Just to Show you my World
by Spread A Little Happiness
Summary: I was exactly what they wanted me to be; a perfect little doll, waiting for someone to return to her. With no other world but my reality, my life seemed...colourless. And then you came and you showed me the colours of the world, showed me how beautiful my reality could be; a reality filled with you. "I just wanted to show you my world..." Sequel to Just To See Your Smile
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello my dear readers! **_

_**The sequel to Just to See Your Smile is finally here! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get up but it's been a bit hard to plan and work out time wise. For those of you who may be new to this little duo of mine I would suggest reading Just to See Your Smile before reading this. I wouldn't say it's absolutely needed but it is essential if you want to fully understand what's going on right off the bat!**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fruits Basket. All associated characters and plot traits belong to their respective owners. I do, however, own Aimi and all other original characters.**

_**Also, I think I finally understand the whole, first name/last name thing in Japanese, along with the use of '-sama', '-Kun' etc. Since I'm not fluent in Japanese, however, you won't be finding any Japanese words or use of those honorifics in my story. I think Japanese is a beautiful language and I hope to learn it someday, but I would never want to disrespect the language or culture by inserting dodgy attempts of usage, aided by my small knowledge of the language. So yeah, just all English for now! **_

_**Now, with that out of the way, I'd like to officially welcome you all to this new story. I cannot tell you how excited I am to be writing it! It's amazing to start a whole new journey with this story after writing the first one. Thank you all so much and I hope you like this one just as much as you liked Just to See Your Smile.**_

_**And so, I give your Chapter One of Just to Show You My World! Enjoy, dear readers.**_

**MPOV**

The pale sun filtered in through the clear glass, filling the room with a sharp morning light. It fell across cashmere rugs and mahogany furniture, pervading the large room. The crushed velvet curtains lay forgotten at either side of the large windows. A grandfather clock's echoing ticks imbued the almost silent room with a haunting yet comforting sound.

Silk sheets rustled softly as I turned over to face the window, my eyes wide and alert. I'd been up for over an hour now and I had stayed here, surrounded by soft silk and sunlight, waiting for my medicine to be brought. My eyes searched the ray of sunlight for dust particles but I found none.

But of course there would be none. My room was always kept obnoxiously clean and the clinical smell of cleaning detergents constantly hangs in the air. The foul odour was slightly diluted by the echoing scent of lilies that were placed around the room, their anthers removed long ago, along with most of their scent. White petals folded delicately outwards as they toppled over the tops of the crystal vases they had been placed in two days ago.

I sighed, hugging a soft, duck feather pillow to my chest. The beginning of yet another long, dreary day would come soon, accompanied by a dull knock on the wood of my door. The thought of feigning sleep in order to have a few more hours to myself crossed my mind but it was pointless. Time to get the day started then.

"Come in" I called, my voice quiet but I knew he'd hear me.

"Good morning, Miss Akiyama" He greeted cheerfully, a silver tray laden with food appearing with him.

I simply sat up and stared at him as he journeyed further into the room, his eyes straying towards the machine beside the bed. He set the tray down on the chest at the bottom of the queen sized bed and crossed his arms, staring at me.

"Miss Akiyama, you're supposed to keep this turned on during the night so we can monitory your heartbeat. If your mother knew…"

As usual, I refused to listen to his rambling. Every night, sleep refused to come to me while the room was filled with that obnoxious beeping sound. The sound of one's heart beat is not a pleasant one. He continued to ramble; unaware that I was inattentive and not listening to a single word he spoke. Quite an animated character, he spoke with his hands a lot, gesticulating to the point that it almost irritated me. I was used to my silence, preferring to sit quietly in my room and he was the only one to ever disturb that silence.

"Are you finished?" I spoke aloud, my voice quite soft compared to his.

He blinked a few times, seemingly surprised that I had spoken. Normally, my irritation is kept under control by the manners beat into me at a young age. But this morning I was in a foul mood, and his cheeriness was beginning to get on my last nerve.

Realising that I would not speak again, he nodded, as if deciding something. Thinking nothing of it, I watched as he began to go about preparing my breakfast, setting the silver tray on my lap. A cloth mask hung around his neck, the blue material a sharp contrast to the white of his jacket. Of course, each item of clothing he wore had been sterilised, along with his skin, hair and anything else that may come in contact with me.

Breakfast seemed pleasant enough; egg and toast. The three white tablets sat tauntingly in the plastic cup next to my plate; the indent that runs horizontally across them looking like an evil smirk. I picked at the slice of toast and small amount of egg, knowing that they would only make me sick if I took the medicine on an empty stomach. He stood by my bedside as I ate, waiting to pounce on me if I needed anything. When I had had my fill, and the tablets had been taken, I pushed the tray away from myself slightly and it was taken away a moment later.

"I'll see you for lunch Miss Akiyama. You should try get out today, your mother and sisters are gone shopping so you have the house to yourself."

That little bit of information caused me to perk up slightly. They weren't my birth mother or sisters; they were my step family and we had been undesirably bound together by my father. He and my older brother were my true family but they were never at home due to work. As the owner of one of Japan's largest advertising companies, my father was always kept busy across the country, my brother accompanying him in order to learn from him. Not that I minded; usually I stayed within the confines of my room so it mattered not.

I waited until he had left the room before throwing back the sheets and swinging my feet over the side of the bed. They dangled in mid-air, the edge of the bed high above the plush, soft carpet. Dropping down, I steadied myself for a moment, a wave of dizziness curling up along my spine and into my head. When it passed, I huffed in frustration, blowing strands of hair out of my face. The floor was cold despite the sunlight, the low temperature biting at my toes. I did love the morning light, however, and so I stood there for a moment, facing the window and the pale light, closing my eyes at the peace and serenity I found here.

When I was first left to my own devices in my room, the silence used to scare me and the feeling of someone so close to death hung in the air. My body would rattle and shake when I'd sit in the corner, praying for morning to come so I'd know I had lived through another night. And now, I savoured the night, refusing to block the stars and moon from my vision with those ridiculously ostentatious drapes. Perhaps the will to see through to the morning had left me, as most of my emotions did. Why care when no one else does? When the only two people that do are forced away from you by someone else's wants and desires?

But, I could never blame them. They left to keep the business alive and, in turn, keep me alive. I could never even guess how much it must cost to keep me living and healthy. So when those little doubts came niggling at the back of my mind, I used to shut them out with forced lullabies in a voice that was never meant for singing. Now, those doubts were just a distant memory, my mind learning to work mechanically instead of running on emotions and curiosity. Why torture yourself with curiosity, with the will to know everything about a world you could never explore? It seemed pointless to me as did a lot of things, regretfully.

Brushing thoughts of my past and what I had now become from my mind, I turned my back on the sunlight and approached the tall, dark wood wardrobe, thinking how easy it would be if it was to simply top over and crush my small frame. Not that I was in a hurry to be dead, mind you. I simply found ridiculous ways in which it could happen since the more prominent and immediate way seemed far too boring for my liking. Pulling back the wooden doors, I was assaulted by bows and petticoats and frills; pale and dark colours staring at me from the hangers. This was the one indulgence I allowed myself to have; the clothes that my mother used to love, that my father always made sure I had. She would dress me as her little doll from what he tells me, cooing and giggling over me. If that information wasn't enough, the smile on his face whenever he saw me dressed up and waiting for him to come home was more than encouraging for me to dress like this whenever I did leave my room.

They were all fine pieces of clothing; silks and cottons and velvets. I found it bemusing that someone would spend so much on mere clothing, but I could never deny him when he brought home something new and pretty for me to wear. It was one of the only things he kept of my mother; her pictures were taken down when my step-mother moved into our home, all traces of the woman who bore me disappearing. Not that I can remember much; she passed when I was very little. But my brother remembered her. And on days when time seemed to slow and we could afford to be family for a little while, he would sit with me and tell me stories of her. They were just stories, none of which that were of very much importance, but I think he liked to remember her and perhaps he felt guilty about my ignorance. Perhaps he saw as much of her in me as my father did.

My brother was my stark contrast; deep brown hair and brown eyes that reminded me of dark chocolate. He resembled my step-sisters more than he did me. The six of them; my father, my brother and my step-mother and her brood, all looked so similar and so perfect. I was the odd one out, something I used to be proud of, something I could raise my chin for. But then my pride left me as well. Pride is a difficult thing to maintain when you fall ill and rely on others for your care, as if you were nothing but a babe.

Leaving silk pyjamas behind, I pulled on a dress, my hands tugging at the soft material and countless bows and straps. It was followed by dolly shoes and my hands reached for a little parasol before I could stop myself. I was living in a doll's house, left to sit in the rooms or, heaven forbid I was allowed, in the garden, waiting patiently until I was picked back up again by my owner. Unenviably, this was what my life was like now, as dull as that seems; dressing up and waiting for a father who may or may not come home that day. And the saddest part?

I only got to dress up on days that I could actually leave my bed. Fortunately, I was getting better recently; better, stronger…but not happier.

But, I guess this story is being written for a purpose. As I've always believed; every story has a reason for being told.

_**And there you go my dears. Again, sorry this has taken so long to get going! I won't expect an update too soon since college has got me so busy, but I'll try my best!**_

Until then,

_**Happy Reading and Writing,**_

_**All my love,**_

_**Spread A Little Happiness **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hello my lovelies!**_

Firstly; Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it! I hope you have a lovely day 

_**And a Happy New year who those who begin their year in January!**_

I'm sorry this update is getting to you so late. I'm thinking I might have these updates for this story as a weekly, or maybe biweekly, event, depending on how much time I get to write, etc. 

**Thank you to :**

**Dia Newman; **_**You will find out! At some stage…possibly in this chapter, possibly not :D Thank you for the reviews!**_

_**So thanks so much to everyone who read the last chapter, and a special thank you to those who left a review; I really appreciate it! This story may have a bit of a slow start, but it'll get started eventually, I promise! Thanks again. I give you chapter two, enjoy my dear readers.**_

**MPOV **

It was hot today; too hot almost. Even my cotton dress and white parasol couldn't keep the heat from invading the protective material and heating my skin. An emptied glass and pitcher sat next to me on the thin blanket which sat upon a large plastic sheet, protecting the delicate skin of my legs from the grass beneath me. The house was quite, but the garden seemed to be alive with the buzzing cicadas and the quite chirping of birds. I wouldn't be allowed stay out for long; the air wasn't as clean out here as it was in the house. And there were too many things that could harm me, too many germs for me to be allowed to bask in this heat for another hour. My life had a schedule, everything I did was timed, managed and organised until I felt I was suffocating under everything. When you don't have anything out of the ordinary to fill your day, no friends to differ one hour from the next, all you can focus on is the routine.

Although the house was void of family, it was filled with strangers; maids running about keeping everything in order, cooks that seemed to never leave their pots of broth and, of course, an on call nurse should my health ever take a dire dip. It all seemed a bit obsessive and inessential, but experience of my fainting spells and drastic health turns had taught my father well. That, and a pushy wife who seemed to want more and more as the years went by. Obviously she seemed perfectly sweet and delightful when my father had first met her; the connection of a deceased spouse drawing the two together. They had both put the encounter up to fate and they were married within the year. My father had never gotten over my mother and it was clear he didn't love my step-mother anywhere near as much as he did the woman who gave me life. But, it was an arrangement that seemed to suit two lonely soles and perhaps he felt the need to place some sort of maternal figure in my life. It was years into the marriage before her true colours shone through and, by then, my father spent so little time at home a divorce seemed nonsensical and simply messy. Plus, I don't think it would look very well to the public eye if my father left one wife in a casket, the other with a set of papers.

As my mind wandered, my skin continued to grow hot until it felt like I could no longer feel it; as if its frailty and emaciation seemed inconsequential. It was a strange sensation, I must admit: to grow so hot that you can no longer feel your skin. I wonder if this is what it felt like to burn, although I imagine it would be a great deal more painful eventually, but in those first few moments, as the flames just licked the tender skin of my arms, searing the first few layers of flesh. I realise how often I contemplate my own death; quite a morbid hobby for a young woman to possess I am certain. But then again, there are those who would decorate their sleeping spaces with skulls and darkness, revelling in the horror of stories and gore. I wonder if I would ever find those things to my liking but I imagine I would never be able to stomach the sight of blood; I had seen my own far too often to want to see another's spilt before my eyes. Regardless, it was a past time that kept my active mind busy. There were no characters around to create, no more fantastical worlds left for me to escape to. I was simply left with reality; a reality that seemed dull and inescapable.

And so my mind left me that; images of my lifeless body, endless possibilities as to how my meagre life would end.

"Miss Akiyama, you must come in. To sit in the heat, it is not good for you. Come, lunch has been prepared." He appeared at the door, calling me in with a ridiculous wave of his hand. I complied, slowly standing. "You mother wishes to eat with you."

This stopped my short journey to the open door, my face crinkling into a frown. I did not like spending time with her and she always made it clear that her time was far too precious to be wasted on an invalid such as myself. So it was abundantly obvious that something had happened or she wished something of me. And I did not like it when she expected things of me; there were a very many things that I did not like about this woman. The feeling, I'm sure, was mutual.

"You may inform her that I shall be taking lunch in my room" I answered coolly, continuing to head indoors, pulling closed my parasol as I stepped inside to the shade, my eyes taking moments to focus to the deterioration in light. Why did he always insist on calling her mother? He knew very well she was in no way related to me. No, she was step-mother. When my eyes had adjusted, I turned from him, making my way towards my room.

"But she insists"

Again his words halted my progress, my back straightening, nostrils flaring. That was an order, one which I did not appreciate. I may not have much pride or independence, but the things I could control I did so with great relish and rebelled against anything or anyone that tried to change that.

"If she insists, then I'm certain that I must _honour _her _request_. Take this to my room." I offered the parasol, knowing full well it was not in his job description to wait on me hand and foot. But he knew he had angered me, even if he was just the messenger, but he would be shot as one none the less unless he granted at least a few of my requests.

He disappeared with it off down the hall, footsteps growing faint and being swallowed by the suffocating silence. Shivering, my skin began to regain awareness again and I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead, the barest hint of perspiration being dabbed away. She did not expect perfection from me, but it was my shield. I would remain the perfect little doll in her presence; the opposite from her classical beauties that she called her own. It was a distinction I was proud of, even more so when I knew it annoyed every fibre in her being. After all, how was she supposed to marry off a china doll? Who would want someone so easily breakable, so easily destroyed? Sometimes, on very, very rare occasions, my illness granted me some sort of sick pleasure if only to be used as a weapon against the leech that called herself step-mother.

How quaint to have an 'evil' step-mother and step-sisters. But they were nothing if not stunning; inky black hair and skin kissed by the sunlight. Almond eyes, more black than brown, framed by a thin face and tall figures. Each of them was perfection in their own way, and in the way in which men would fawn over the classical beauty they possessed. Perhaps, the only thing they did wish for was lighter, porcelain skin and perhaps that is why they hated me. But one will never know, it seemed such a frivolous thing to hate someone for. To dislike someone based merely on their appearance, or the shade of their flesh that covered a close to exact replica of your own skeleton seemed so outlandish it made my mind hurt. Surrounded by thoughts, I took my place at the table and once again indulged myself on how I may trip in the edge of the tablecloth and land upon a knife, spilling my red blood across my beautiful white dress. What a fit my step-mother would have if she walked in on that scene!

I was alive when she arrived, however, much to my own displeasure. With a flick of her short hair and a snap of her fingers, lunch was placed before us, her daughters having taken their places at the table after her grand entrance. Try as I might, I couldn't drag my eyes away from her as she ate her fruit bowl delicately, sipping slowly on the glass of ice tea between mouthfuls. My own lunch remained untouched, my hands balled into fists on my lap. Why she couldn't hurry up and tell me what she wanted of me now angered me; she knew how much I disliked her and she was dragging out the time we spent together as much as possible. We all had our own weapons when it came to injuring the enemy.

"You shouldn't spend so much time in the sun. Your hair can't afford to get any lighter." One of her daughters commented, the other sniggering obnoxiously into her glass.

Self-consciously, I pulled a strand of the waist length hair forward, twirling it between my fingers. The pale blonde colour was a stark contrast to their own dark locks, and they reminded me of it every single time they got the chance. She had once begged me to dye it, the box still sat beneath the sink in the kitchen for I couldn't bare have it in my room. It taunted me, the smiling face of the beautiful woman on the box. Again, the hatred all came down to colour; the small difference of hair colour, a shade that tied me to my birth mother and a love of my father. But she made sure that it would never be a love of mine; deeming it too strange and too pale to be considered beautiful, by her standards and the standards of rich suitors. I was living in a colourless world and yet, so many things about my world were decided by colours; my skin, hair, eyes and colour of my medication.

"Your father will return home this evening" She muttered, refusing to look at me as she flipped through the pages of a glossy, interior decorating magazine. Her daughters continued to chat amongst themselves, paying little or no attention to us. I, however, could barely conceal my excitement. But I would save it for later; I would not give her the satisfaction of shattering my emotionless visage. "He wishes to speak to you and I; a very important matter."

I made no move to indicate that I had heard her, or cared about what she had said. Nothing she said was of much interest to me anyway. Silence descended upon us once again, only disturbed by the clinking of silver forks against china bowls or the quite murmuring of the two that sat at the end of the table. My hands relaxed slightly but I made no move to touch my food, my gaze still trained on her face. I knew she sensed my gaze but he ignored it, her eyes continuing to flick between the pages of her magazine and her food. She couldn't even bare to look at me; did she hate my appearance that much, hate my colours that much?

"Miss Akiyama" he had returned but I refused to remove my gaze form her face. Like I said, we each had our own weapons and I wanted her to feel as uncomfortable as possible. "You should eat your lunch; your medicine will be brought to you shortly."

I tensed, reaching for my fork. Spending the day with a nauseated stomach was not ideal. It seemed near impossible to eat but I had to force myself to chew on the sweet fruits, the tension never leaving the room. I felt I could reach out and scrape it away with my fork; it clung to the air almost like smoke. Even the sound of my own teeth working on the food seemed too loud for my ears; their cutlery banging against plates muffled so it sounded as if they were in the other room instead of at the same table as me. Why did I feel smothered in my own home?

What if I choked on a piece of fruit right now? Would they do anything if I was left gasping for air, my lips turning a purple-blue as my body shuddered for air? Or would they watch as I clawed at the table, trying to draw a breath? Some small, naïve part of me thought that perhaps they would do something to help; leaping from their chairs to try and dislodge the food from my throat. But a larger, more logical part of me reasoned that the former was more likely. I really did have a fascination with my own death.

They soon left me to my own devices, and those three little pills. I stared at them, my fruit forgotten. Wondering what would happen if I simply refused to take them or, at least, pretended to, I choked them down with a sip of water. The silence that had once been broken by the dull hum of other presences had no left me and I was alone again.

And now all I had to do was wait for someone to return to me.

_**Here you go guys! I'm sorry if it seems…inconsistence since it was written in several parts. I'm not too happy with the last section, so this may end up being re-uploaded at a later stage. For now, I hope you enjoy!**_

My love,

_**As always,**_

_**Spread A Little Happiness **_


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